A/N: Hello! This is my first PRSPD story, but Im no stranger to writing fanfiction. The idea for this story popped into my head and so I thought Id write to see where it takes me. Please read and enjoy, and if you feel so inclined, please review! More chapters to follow!

Prologue

The room was quiet when he entered, but that didn't surprise him. Her room was always quiet, save the occasional beep from the heart monitor that faithfully monitored its comatose patient. As usual, the room was devoid of any decoration, just the standard table with fresh flowers, and of course, the standard hospital bed with rails.

It was plain, cheerless and he hated it. It felt as if happiness didn't or couldn't live in that room, leaving him feeling guilty for even entertaining the thought of refusing to visit for that very reason.

He quietly stepped further into the room until he stood beside her bed. For a moment he just stood there, as if frozen, his hands tightly gripping the raised rails of her bed. His knuckles were beginning to turn white, but he refused to loosen his grip.

Don't have a coronary, babe! her voice drifted into his head. It was what she'd always tell him, teasingly, of course, whenever he got stressed or overwhelmed. And, it always worked, always got him to calm down, to clear his head.

But, not this time.

Imaginary voice or not, he felt no closer to calm than when he first entered the room. Instead, he found himself carefully studying her face, in hopes of finding that calm in her unconscious, almost sleeplike features. He thought that after so many years together, he would've memorized every contour of her face by now, but judging by the way his eyes greedily drank in the sight of her, he realized he hadn't.

A hand tentatively reached out, his fingers hesitant against her jawline. Her skin felt smooth, warm and soft. Encouraged, his fingertips traveled upwards, brushing over her cheeks, then across the bridge of her nose. With just a flick of his wrist, he brushed the fringe of light hair away from her forehead and gently kissed the top of her head.

"Wake up," he whispered, his eyes searching her face for any sign that she could hear him. It had been nearly three years since hed seen her eyes hazel, with flecks of green- and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see those gorgeous colors again, to see her bright smile reflected there.

"You have to let her go, son," her father had told him earlier. "She wouldnt want you to live life like this."

The words echoed in his head, painfully. Her father was right, of course; she'd been in a coma for almost three years now, a result of a horrible car accident, but the doctors were losing hope. With each passing day, her health seemed to further deteriorate, her organs on the verge of shutting down.

Her father was right, but, it didn't make it any easier for him to let her go. How could he? He was pretty sure she was his soulmate; who else understood him the way she did? Who else could he tell his secrets and his fears to if she wasnt here?

Who?

Staring at the comatose girl, wishing she would open her eyes for him one last time, he took her small hand into his.

And, at that moment, Schulyer "Sky" Tate began to cry.